


Spencer's poor hands ficlet

by Sena



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Blow Jobs, Friends With Benefits, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-28
Updated: 2011-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-23 03:47:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sena/pseuds/Sena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh, Spencer Smith, <a href="http://thesameband.livejournal.com/241870.html#cutid1">your poor hands</a>.</p><p>I felt bad about Spencer's hands.  And then I thought somebody should probably give him a blowjob to cheer him up.  And then I wrote about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spencer's poor hands ficlet

Spencer frowns and pokes at the bandage covering the raw, swollen flesh on his finger.

"Stop poking it," Brendon says.

"I'm not poking it," Spencer says, and pokes at it again. He starts to pick at the bandage, wants to peel it back again and look.

"I'm going to duct tape oven mitts to your hands," Brendon tells him.

"I'm not touching it," Spencer says, and he lays his hands by his sides and looks at the TV. Then he looks over at Brendon, "Why oven mitts?"

"That's what my mom did to me when I got chicken pox," Brendon says. "I was five. I didn't understand that I couldn't scratch."

Spencer raises one eyebrow and thinks about having to take care of a hyperactive five-year-old Brendon with chicken pox. "Did you ever send your mom that _World's Greatest Mom_ trophy you kept talking about last month? Because I think she probably deserves it."

"Dude, I got it engraved with her name and everything. She put it on the mantle. Want to see?" Brendon pulls out his phone and scrolls through his pictures and hands it to Spencer.

Spencer takes the phone, then winces because it _hurts_ , but he doesn't complain. He's seen worse. Hell, he's _had_ worse. At least he can still move all his fingers. Mostly.

The trophy is hideous. It's got three tiers and the columns are covered with purple holographic stars and on the top is a brassy plastic star that says, "World's Greatest Mom!"

"Jesus Christ, that's ugly," Spencer says.

"I know, right?" Brendon is gleeful. "And she put it in the _living room_. She loves me." He smiles happily as he takes the phone back and gazes at the picture again.

Spencer remembers the years when Brendon wasn't sure if his family loved him or not, remembers how brittle it made him. "If she put that ugly ass piece of shit in her living room, she definitely loves you."

Brendon grins wide at him and turns up the TV. Spencer doesn't even know why, since it's in Japanese.

"Do you think that's her brother or her boyfriend?" Spencer asks after two of the characters have a particularly intense conversation.

"Hush," says Brendon.

"Did you learn Japanese when I wasn't paying attention?"

"Just listen," Brendon says.

Spencer rolls his eyes and sits with his back to the headboard and listens. After a couple more scenes, he's pretty sure that the jerk on the motorcycle is the pretty waitress' boyfriend, but he's cheating on her with the woman in the business suit.

"But Lance," Brendon says breathily, "you promised you'd come to the Catalina Wine Mixer with me!"

Spencer snorts and picks up his half of the dubbing. "Don't be ridiculous, Tiffany! You know I'm a recovering alcoholic."

It's comfortable and familiar, making up dialogue to dramas in languages they don't understand. They've been doing it for years, doing it since they were still touring in a van and watching Univision on crappy motel room TVs.

Spencer starts poking at his hands again. The dialogue they're making up is _terrible_. "That's it," Spencer says, "I have to tell you the truth, Tiffany. I'm married to your sister."

"No, not my own sister!" Brendon cries. "She wears such ugly pantsuits!"

Spencer laughs at Brendon's melodramatic delivery and starts to pick at the bandage on his right pointer finger. He's just about to say, "I love her ugly pantsuits," when Brendon flings himself onto Spencer's bed, grabs him by the hips, and drags him halfway down the mattress.

Spencer's breath catches in his throat when Brendon pins his wrists above his head. "Um," he says.

"Stop poking at your hands," Brendon tells him. "If you keep poking at them, they won't heal and your fingers will fall off."

Spencer rolls his eyes, says, "I think you're being a little--" and then he squeaks because Brendon's sliding down and tugging off Spencer's sweat pants. "Brendon," he whispers.

"If I blow you, do you promise not to poke at your hands anymore?" Brendon asks.

Spencer nods. They haven't done this in forever. It's been actual _years_ since the last time they fooled around, but Spencer remembers what it had been like. His dick remembers, too, already half-hard and aching for Brendon's mouth.

Brendon kisses the inside of Spencer's thigh, licks his way up and bites at Spencer's hipbone. Spencer whimpers and tries to run his fingers through Brendon's hair, then pulls them away and says, "Ow."

Brendon looks up at him, eyes dark. "Do I have to tie you up or are you going to be good?"

Spencer's cock jerks. Brendon taking control like that is new, but not unwelcome. He stretches his arms up over his head, crosses them at the wrist. "I'll be good," he says.

Brendon's grin is smutty and pleased. He pushes Spencer's t-shirt halfway up his chest, then goes back to kissing his way across Spencer's hips, and that's new, too, the way he's become patient enough to tease. Spencer closes his eyes and presses his wrists into the mattress and concentrates on breathing slow.

Brendon licks slow, gentle paths up Spencer's inner thighs, his hips, over his belly. His callused fingers catch rough on Spencer's skin, making him shiver. Brendon scrapes his teeth over the angle where his thigh meets his hip, and Spencer's cock jerks. Brendon makes a pleased sound in the back of this throat and kisses the base of the shaft.

"Did you, like, go to school for this?" Spencer asks breathlessly, arching up, desperate for the heat of Brendon's mouth. "Because you didn't used to be this good."

Brendon takes the head of Spencer's cock into his mouth and slides his tongue over the slit and Spencer squeezes his eyes shut tight and concentrates on not grabbing Brendon's hair and fucking his mouth, no matter how much he wants to.

Spencer could blame the fact that he hasn't gotten laid in months, or he could blame all of Brendon's teasing, but mostly he's ridiculously close to coming just because it feels so fucking good. Brendon's mouth is so hot, and every time he hums, pleased, Spencer can feel it in his cock. And then Brendon's stroking his balls and pressing his knuckle up beneath them and Spencer gasps, "Brendon, now," before he comes.

Brendon surges up to kiss him, and Spencer kisses back, toes curling as he tastes his own spunk on Brendon's tongue. Brendon's propped up on one hand, jerking himself off. "Fuck, fuck," he gasps into Spencer's mouth. "Gonna come all over you. Gonna get you fucking filthy."

Spencer says, "Yes," and he wants to touch. He wants to grip Brendon's hair and pull him down for another kiss but he doesn't because he's being good. He's being so good, arms still above his head, fingers tensing. He lifts his head up, instead, arching up for a kiss and Brendon kisses him hard, bruising, before he still and then shudders through his release.

Brendon collapses on top of him, and Spencer grins and rolls his eyes, because that isn't new at all. "Get off," he says.

"We just did," says Brendon.

Spencer plants his foot firmly on the mattress and uses it to lever his hips up so he can shove Brendon off. "You're not falling asleep while suffocating me."

Brendon slides over a little bit, but he keeps his head on Spencer's chest. "I'm sticky," he says, sadly.

"That's what happens when you come all over somebody and then collapse on top of him," Spencer says.

Brendon hmms and nods. "You should get me a washcloth."

"Can't," says Spencer.

Brendon slides further to the side so he's not lying on Spencer anymore. "Now you can," he says.

"Nope."

"Spencer," Brendon whines. "I did all the work."

"Yes, but I'm being good," Spencer says, pleased with himself when Brendon jerks up and looks Spencer's wrists, still crossed over his head.

"Oh, shit," Brendon whispers, and he touches Spencer's face and leans to kiss him. "Spencer, you're, you just." He presses his forehead to Spencer's chest and is silent for a long time. "You can move, now," he whispers. "I mean, you don't have to stay..."

Spencer's slides one hand down Brendon's back, slick with sweat. Brendon curls up against him, still just as tactile afterwards as Spencer remembers. The television is still on, Spencer can see it flickering against his closed eyelids, can still hear the dramatic music and dialogue.

"I only wear ugly pantsuits to hide the fact that I was born with a conjoined twin attached to my vagina that prevents me from ever having sex," Brendon mumbles sleepily against Spencer skin.

Spencer laughs and strokes Brendon's shoulders. "Then how are you pregnant with Lance's baby, you lying whore?"


End file.
